


(You Don't Need) To Fix This

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Stuck with Me (Sometimes Quite Literally) [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Aftermath of a Case, Alternate Universe - X-Files Fusion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, brief mention of a traumatic kinda violent event, its meant to be platonic but lol you know its not, post episode season two episode twentyfour (our town), vague talks of wounds and blood, yeahhhhhh so you know its fucked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean can't convince Agent Bodt that what happened to him in that delusional town isn't his fault, so he spends the night to tell him that if anything, he forgives him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(You Don't Need) To Fix This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Achrya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/gifts).



> no, i'm not panicking over season two finale and the episode after that, what are you talking about?  
> (please send help)
> 
> post-episode of [this bullshit](http://putlocker.is/watch-the-x-files-tvshow-season-2-episode-24-online-free-putlocker.html), because holy fuck how is scully okay
> 
> [music](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=Af-UeGn7_C4#The_Colourist_-_Fix_This) that more or less relates, but is a good song nonetheless

                The number of times Jean has had to stop Bodt’s hand from moving where it sits, resting on his stomach, cushioned by his shirt, is unreasonable. It recently hit the point that he had to thread his fingers between the dips of Bodt’s own, holding it still against the material. His arm is tucked nicely against Bodt’s own, and he has his back to his chest, only their pajamas separating their bodies. The cotton of Bodt’s top is soft against his bare elbow, and it feels nicer against his skin than Bodt’s bottoms against the back of his legs.

 

                “Sorry,” his partner hushes once again that night when Jean’s thumb brushes over his palm. He knows he itches to lift it higher, to touch the gauze that sits next to his temple. He knows Bodt feels responsible, feels that if they hadn’t separated that it wouldn’t have happened, and that he wouldn’t have almost… lost his head, so to speak. No matter how often Jean says it, Bodt doesn’t want to listen to the fact that if Bodt had been with him, he wouldn’t have found the proof, and that the past has happened and that he’s fine.

 

                And again, Jean murmurs that it’s fine, and since he can’t look Bodt in the eyes to let him know that it _is_ , he just squeezes his hand.

 

                When Bodt had said it earlier, in the car, he had been staring at the dried blood that had trickled from the wound, stuck to Jean’s skin. It had taken Jean a few seconds to understand what he was talking about, but when he did know, he had responded back that it wasn’t his fault. When Bodt had opened his mouth to argue, Jean had only shaken his head and lied that it didn’t even hurt.

 

                It had. It still did.

 

                As Bodt watched someone address to his head, something Jean wouldn’t let him or his shaky fingers attempt to do themselves, he’d said it again. Instead, Jean had claimed that it was fine, told him that he didn’t need to worry. Then, when Bodt gave him the look that said without words how much he disagreed with that statement, Jean had added only, “I know.”

 

                The only sorry he hadn’t said anything to was the one that came after Jean had started so hard that he had ended up knocking Bodt’s remote off the coffee table. All Bodt had tried to do was comfort him, all he had done was skimmed the back of his fingers up, along his jaw and then, something he usually didn’t do; he’d tried to slide them against the back of Jean’s neck. It was a move he had made unthinkingly, a try to be affectionate, but it wasn’t in the cards.

 

                After his apology and his rush to Jean’s aide, he’d been brushed off, told to go take a shower as Jean went to go change his clothes, even if he knew that Bodt wouldn’t stop following him around until his hands stopped moving so restlessly. It had ended with neither of them taking a shower and Bodt’s hand keeping to a wide arc away from his neck when he helped him remove his shirt.

 

                Crawling into their positions, Jean snuggled into the curve of Bodt’s stomach, facing the edge of the bed, Bodt had asked if they could sleep face to face. Instead of flipping over, Jean had moved his hand to where it always sat on his stomach, tangling their legs together, settled his head just right atop Bodt’s arm, and told him to ask some other time.

 

                Fingers stretching over his stomach before curling back, Bodt had asked, “Are you mad at me?” and Jean could hear the swallow he made after. He’d shaken his head and waited until Bodt had tilted his face down to nose against the top of his head before he explained that he didn’t want him staring at his wound all night instead of sleeping. That earned him another breathy “sorry” but Bodt at least seemed to relax after that.

 

                Then, every time his hand had moved and Jean had guided it back down, even before he could touch what he was reaching for, Bodt would say it again. Jean only told him it was fine and again settled on waiting until Bodt’s breathing was more even before he thought about sleeping himself. It took a while, but soon enough Bodt was finally asleep and his hand was still where it should be.

 

                And when the morning came, Jean waited until Bodt stirred behind him before he got up to take the shower he hadn’t had last night, glad he was too groggy to do much but watch as he stripped of his shirt and flung it across the room.

**Author's Note:**

> no one is okay and that includes me
> 
> [snk/writing blog.](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/) acharya's can be found [here.](http://acharyadiako.tumblr.com/)
> 
> want to support and reblog/like this fic on tumblr? you can do so [here](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/144776484073/im-suffering-but-that-doesnt-mean-my-x-files).
> 
> if you liked it and want to drop a kudos and/or comment, that would be truly wonderful.


End file.
